Chapter 20 Betty Vivian by L. T. Meade
A TIME OF DANGER
Fanny was left alone with Dickie. It was really awful to be quite alone in a room where a spider nearly the size of an egg had concealed himself. If Dickie would only come out and show himself Fanny thought she could fight him; but he was at once big enough to bite and terrify her up to the point of danger, and small enough effectually to hide his presence. Fanny was really nervous; all the events of the day had conspired to make her so. She, who, as a rule, knew nothing whatever about nerves, was oppressed by them now. There had been the meeting of the Specialities; there had been the blunt refusal to make Sibyl one of their number. Then there was the appalling fact that she (Fanny) was turned out of her bedroom. There was also the unpleasantness of Sibyl's insurrection; and last, but not least, a spider had been put into her bed by those wicked girls.
Oh, what horrors all the Vivians were! What turmoil they had created in the hitherto orderly, happy school! "No wonder I hate them!" thought Fanny. "Well, I can't sleep here--that's plain." She stood by the fire. The fire began to get low; the hour waxed late. There was no sound whatever in the house. Betty's beautiful room was in a distant wing. The doctors might consult in the adjoining room that used to be Fanny's as much as they pleased, but not one sound of their voices or footsteps could reach the girl. The other schoolgirls had gone to bed. They were all anxious, all more or less unhappy; but, compared to Fanny, they were blessed with sweet peace, and could slumber without any sense of reproach.
Fanny found herself turning cold. She was also hungry. She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece; the hour was past midnight. As a rule, she was in bed and sound asleep long before this time. Her cold and hunger made her look at the fire; it was getting low.
Mrs. Haddo was so determined to give the girls of her school every possible comfort that she never allowed them to feel cold in the house. The passages were therefore heated in winter-time with steam, and each bedroom had its own cheery fire. The governesses were treated almost better than the pupils. But then people were not expected to sit up all night.
Fanny opened the coal-hod, intending to put fresh coals on the dying fire; but, to her distress, found that the hod was empty. This happened to be a mistake on the part of the housemaid who had charge of this special room.
Fanny felt herself growing colder and colder, and yet she dared not go to bed. She had turned on all the electric lights, and the room itself was bright as day. Suddenly she heard the sound of wheels crunching on the gravel outside. She rushed to the window, and was relieved to observe that the doctor's carriage was bowling down the avenue. The doctors had therefore gone. Miss Symes would come to bed very soon now. Perhaps Miss Symes would know how to catch Dickie. Anyhow, Fanny would not be alone. She crouched in her chair near the dying embers of the fire. The minutes ticked slowly on until at last it was a quarter to one o'clock. Then Miss Symes opened the door and came in. She hardly noticed the fact that Fanny was up, and the further fact that her fire was nothing but embers did not affect her in the very least. Her eyes were very bright, and there were red spots on each cheek. The expression on her face brought Fanny to the momentary consciousness that they were all in a house where the great Angel of Death might enter at any moment.
Miss Symes sat down on the nearest chair, folded her hands on her lap, and looked at Fanny. "Well," she said, "have you nothing to ask me?"
"I am a very miserable girl!" said Fanny. "To begin with, I am hungry, for I scarcely ate any supper to-night; I did not care for the food provided by the Specialities. Hours and hours have passed by, and I could not go to bed."
"And why not, Fanny?" asked Miss Symes. "Why did you stay up against the rules? And why do you think of yourself in a moment like the present?"
"I am sorry," said Fanny; "but one must always think of one's self--at least, I am afraid _I_ must. Not that I mean to be selfish," she added, seeing a look of consternation spread over Miss Symes's face. "The fact is this, St. Cecilia, I have had the most horrible fright. Those ghastly little creatures the twins--the Vivian twins--brought a most enormous spider into your room, hid it in the center of my bed, and then ran away again. I never saw such a monster! I was afraid to go near the creature at first; and when I did it looked at me--yes, absolutely looked at me! I turned cold with horror. Then, before I could find my voice, it began to run--and towards me! Oh, St. Cecilia, I screamed! I did. Susie and Olive heard me, and came to the rescue. Of course they knew that the spider was Dickie, that horrid reptile those girls brought from Scotland. He has hidden himself somewhere in the room. The twins themselves said that his bite was dangerous, so I am quite afraid to go to bed; I am, really."
"Come, Fanny, don't talk nonsense!" said Miss Symes. "The poor little twins are to be excused to-night, for they are really beside themselves. I have just left the poor little children, and Martha West is going to spend the night with them. Martha is a splendid creature!"
"I cannot possibly go to bed, Miss Symes."
"But you really must turn in. We don't want to have more illnesses in the house than we can help; so, my dear Fanny, get between the sheets and go to sleep."
"And you really think that Dickie won't hurt me?"
"Of course not; and you surely can take care of yourself. If you are nervous you can keep one of the electric lights on. Now, do go to bed. I am going to change into a warm dressing-gown, for I want to help the nurse in Betty's room."
"And how is Betty?" asked Fanny in a low tone. "Why is there such a frightful fuss about her? Is she so very ill?"
"Yes, Fanny; your cousin, Betty Vivian, is dangerously ill. No one can quite account for what is wrong; but that her brain is affected there is not the slightest doubt, and the doctor from London says that unless she gets relief soon he fears very much for the result. The child is suffering from a very severe shock, and to-morrow Mrs. Haddo intends to make most urgent inquiries as to the nature of what went wrong. But I needn't talk to you any longer about her now. Go to bed and to sleep."
While Miss Symes was speaking she was changing her morning-dress and putting on a very warm woolen dressing-gown. The next minute she had left the room without taking any further notice of Fanny. Fanny, terrified, cold, afraid to undress, but unable from sheer sleepiness to stay up any longer, got between the sheets and soon dropped into undisturbed slumber. If Dickie watched her in the distance he left her alone. There were worse enemies waiting to spy on poor Fanny than even Dickie.
In a school like Haddo Court dangerous illness must affect each member of the large and as a rule deeply attached family. Betty Vivian had come like a bright meteor into the midst of the school. She had delighted her companions; she had fascinated them; she had drawn forth love. She could do what no other girl had ever done in the school. No one supposed Betty to be free from faults, but every one also knew that her faults were exceeded by her virtues. She was loved because she was lovable. The only one who really hated her was her cousin Fanny.
Now, Fanny knew well that inquiries would be made; for the favorite must not be ill if anything could be done to save her, nor must a stone be left unturned to effect her recovery.
Fanny awoke the next morning with a genuine headache, fearing she knew not what. The great gong which always awoke the school was not sounded that day; but a servant came in and brought Fanny's hot water, waking her at the same time. Fanny rubbed her eyes, tried to recall where she was, and then asked the woman how Miss Vivian was.
"I don't know, miss. It's a little late, but if you are quick you'll be down in hall at the usual time."
Fanny felt that she hated the woman. As she dressed, however, she forgot all about her, so intensely anxious was she to recover the packet from its hiding-place in her own bedroom. She wondered much if she could accomplish this, and presently, prompted by the motto, "Nothing venture, nothing win," tidied her dress, smoothed back her hair, washed her face, tried to look as she might have looked on an ordinary morning, and finding that she had quite ten minutes to spare before she must appear in hall, ran swiftly in the direction of her own room.
She was sufficiently early to know that there was very little chance of her meeting another girl en route, and even if she did she could easily explain that she was going to her room to fetch some article of wardrobe which had been forgotten.
She reached the room. The door was shut. Very softly she turned the handle; it yielded to her pressure, and she went in.
The nurse turned at once to confront her. "You mustn't come in here, miss."
"I just want to fetch something from one of my drawers; I won't make the slightest noise," said Fanny. "Please let me in."
Sister Helen said nothing further. Fanny softly opened one of the drawers. She knew the exact spot where the packet lay hidden. A moment later she had folded it up in some of her under-linen and conveyed it outside the room without Sister Helen suspecting anything. As soon as she found herself in the corridor she removed the packet from its wrappings and slipped it into her inner pocket. It must stay on her person for the present, for in no other place could it possibly be safe. When she regained Miss Symes's room she found that lady already there. She was making her toilet.
"Why, Fanny," she said, "what have you been doing? You haven't, surely, been to your own room! Did Sister Helen let you in?"
"She didn't want to; but I required some--some handkerchiefs and things of that sort," said Fanny.
"Well, you haven't brought any handkerchiefs," said Miss Symes. "You have only brought a couple of night-dresses."
"Sister Helen rather frightened me, and I just took these and ran away," answered the girl. Then she added, lowering her voice, "How is Betty to-day?"
"You will hear all about Betty downstairs. It is time for you to go into the hall. Don't keep me, Fanny."
Fanny, only too delighted, left the room. Now she was safe. The worst of all could not happen to her. When she reached the great central hall, where the girls usually met for a few minutes before breakfast, she immediately joined a large circle of girls of the upper school. They were talking about Betty. Among the group was Sibyl Ray. Sibyl was crying, and when Fanny appeared she turned abruptly aside as though she did not wish to be seen. Fanny, who had been almost jubilant at having secured the packet, felt a new sense of horror at Sibyl's tears. Sibyl was the sort of girl to be very easily affected.
As Fanny came near she heard Susie Rushworth say to Sibyl, "Yes, it is true; Betty has lost something, and if she doesn't find it she will--the doctor, the great London doctor, says that she will--die."
Sibyl gave another great, choking sob.
Fanny took her arm. "Sibyl," she said, "don't you want to come for a walk with me during recess this morning?"
"Oh, I don't know, Fanny!" said poor Sibyl, raising her eyes, streaming with tears, to Fanny's face.
"Well, I want you," said Fanny. Then she added in a low tone, "Don't forget Brighton and Aunt Amelia, and the excellent time you will have, and the positive certainty that before a year is up you will be a Speciality. Don't lose all these things for the sake of a little sentiment. Understand, too, that doctors are often wrong about people. It is ridiculous to suppose that a strong, hearty girl like Betty Vivian should have her life in danger because you happened to find----"
"Oh, don't!" said Sibyl. "I--I _can't_ bear it! I saw Sylvia and Hetty last night. I can't bear it!"
"You are a little goose, Sibyl! It's my opinion you are not well. You must cling to me, dear, and I will pull you through--see if I don't."
As Fanny took her usual place at the breakfast-table Susie Rushworth said to her, "You really are kind to that poor little Sibyl, Fan. After all, we must have been a little hard on her last night. She certainly shows the greatest distress and affection for poor dear Betty."
"I said she was a nice child. I shouldn't be likely to propose her for the club if she were not," said Fanny.
Susie said nothing more. All the girls were dull, grave, distressed. The twins were nowhere to be seen. Betty's sweet face, Betty's sparkling eyes, Betty's gay laugh, were conspicuous by their absence. Miss Symes did not appear at all.
When breakfast was over, and the brief morning prayers had been gone through by Mr. Fairfax--for these prayers were not said in the chapel--Mrs. Haddo rose and faced the school. "Girls," she said, "I wish to let you all know that one of your number--one exceedingly dear to us all--is lying now at the point of death. Whether God will spare her or not depends altogether on her mind being given a certain measure of relief. I need not tell you her name, for you all know it, and I believe you are all extremely grieved at what has occurred. It is impossible for any of you to help her at this moment except by being extra quiet, and by praying to God to be good to her and her two little sisters. I propose, therefore, to make a complete alteration in the arrangements of to-day. I am going to send the whole of the upper school--with the exception of the members of the Speciality Club--to London by train. Two of the teachers, Mademoiselle and Miss Oxley, will accompany you. You will all be driven to the station, and win return to-night--having, I hope, enjoyed a pleasant day. By that time there may be good news to greet you. No lessons to-day for any of the upper school; so, girls, go at once and get ready."
All the girls began now to leave the great hall, with the exception of the Specialities and Sibyl Ray.
"Go, Sibyl!" said Fanny. "What are you lingering for?"
"Yes, Sibyl, be quick; don't delay!" said Mrs. Haddo, speaking rather sharply. "You will all be back in time to-night to hear the latest report of dear Betty, and we trust we may have good news to tell you."
Sibyl went with extreme slowness and extreme unwillingness. But for the fact that Fanny kept her eye fixed on Sibyl she might have refused to budge. As it was, she left the hall; and a very few minutes later wagonettes and motors appeared in view, and the girls of the upper school drove to the railway station.
As Fanny saw Sibyl driving off with the others she became conscious of a new sense of relief. She had been so anxious with regard to Sibyl that she had not had time to wonder why the Specialities were not included in the entertainment. Now, however, her thoughts were turned into a different channel.
Susie Rushworth came up to Fanny. "Fanny," she said, "you and I, and the Bertrams, and Olive, and Margaret, and Martha are all to go immediately to Mrs. Haddo's private sitting-room."
"What for?" asked Fanny.
"I expect that she will explain. We are to go, and at once."
Fanny did not dare to say any more. They all went slowly together in the direction of that beautiful room where Mrs. Haddo, usually so bright, so cheery, so full of enthusiasm, invited her young pupils to meet her. But there was no smile of welcome on that lady's fine face on the present occasion. She did not even shake hands with the girls as they approached. All she did was to ask them to sit down.
Fanny took her place between Olive and one of the Bertrams. She could not help noticing a great change in their manner towards her. As a rule she was a prime favorite, and to sit next Fanny Crawford was considered a very rare honor. On this occasion, however, the girls rather edged away from Fanny.
Mrs. Haddo seated herself near the fire. Then she turned and spoke to Margaret Grant. "Margaret," she said, "I ask you, in the name of the other members of your club, to give me full and exact particulars with regard to your expulsion of Betty Vivian. I must know, and fully, why Betty was expelled. Pause a minute before you speak, dear. For long years I have allowed this club to exist in the school, believing much in its good influence--in its power to ennoble and raise the impressionable character of a young girl. I have not interfered with it; on the contrary, I have been proud of it. To each girl who became a Speciality I immediately granted certain privileges, knowing well that no girl would be lightly admitted to a club with so high an aim and so noble a standard.
"When Betty first came I perceived at once that she was fearless, very affectionate, and possessed a strong, pronounced, willful character; I saw, in short, that she was worth winning and loving. I liked her sisters also; but Betty was superior to her sisters. I departed from several established customs when I admitted the Vivians to this school, and I will own that I had my qualms of conscience notwithstanding the fact that my old friend Sir John Crawford was so anxious for me to have them here. Nevertheless, when first I saw Betty I knew that he was right and I was wrong. That such a girl might stir up deep interest, and perhaps even bring sorrow into the school, I knew was within the bounds of probability; but I did not think it possible that she could ever disgrace it. I own I was a little surprised when I was told that so new a girl was made a member of your club; but as you, Margaret, were secretary, and as Susie Rushworth and my dear friend Fanny were members, I naturally had not a word to say, and only admired your discernment in reading aright that young character.
"Then there came the news--the terrible news--that Betty was expelled; and since then there has been confusion, sorrow, and now this most alarming illness. The girl is dying of a broken heart. She has lost something that she treasures. Margaret, the rules of the club must give place to the greater rules of the school; and I demand a full explanation from you of the exact reason why Betty Vivian is no longer a member of the Specialities."
Margaret looked round at the other members. All their faces were white. No one spoke for a minute.
Then Fanny rose and said, "Is it fair, for Betty's sake, that we should break our own rules? The reason of her being no longer a member is at present known only to the rest of us. Is it right that it should be made public property?"
"It must be made _my_ property, Fanny Crawford; and I do not ask you, much as I esteem your father's friendship, to dictate to me in this matter."
Fanny sat down again. She felt the little packet in her pocket. That, at least, was secure; that, at least, would not rise up and betray her.
Margaret gave a very simple explanation of the reason why Betty could not remain in the club. She said that Betty had taken the rules and studied them carefully; had most faithfully promised to obey them; and then, a fortnight later, had stood up and stated that she had broken Rule No. I., for she had a secret which she had not divulged to the other members.
"And that secret, Margaret?" asked Mrs. Haddo.
"She had, she said, a packet--a sealed packet of great value--that she did not wish any one in the school to know about. It had been given to her by one she loved. She was extremely reticent about it, and seemed to be in great trouble. She explained why she had not spoken of it at first by saying that she did not think that the secret concerned any one in the school, but since she had joined the club she had felt that she ought to tell. We asked her all the questions we could; and she certainly gave us to understand that the packet was hers by right, but that, rather than give it up, she had told an untruth about it to Fanny's father, Sir John Crawford. We were very much stunned and distressed at her revelation, and we begged of her to go with the story to you, and also to put the packet in your charge, and tell you what she had already told us. This she emphatically refused to do, saying that she would never give the packet up under any conditions whatever. We had a special meeting of the club on the following night, when we again asked Betty what she meant to do. She said her intention was to keep firmly to her resolve that she would never give up the packet nor tell where she had hidden it. We then felt it to be our bounden duty to ask her to withdraw from the club. She did so. I think that is all."
"Only," said Mrs. Haddo, speaking in a voice of great distress, "that the poor, unhappy child seems to have lost the packet--which contained nobody knows what, but some treasure which she prized--and that the loss and the shock together are affecting her life to the point of danger. Girls, do any of you know--have you any clue whatsoever to--where the packet is now? Please remember, dear girls, that Betty's life--that beautiful, vivid young life--depends on that packet being restored. Don't keep it a secret if you have any clue whatsoever to give me, for I am miserable about this whole thing."
"Indeed we wouldn't keep it a secret," said Margaret. "How could we? We'd give all the world to find it for her. Who can have taken it?"
"Some one has, beyond doubt," said Mrs. Haddo. "Children, this is a terrible day for me. I have tried to be kind to you all. Won't you help me now in my sorrow?"
The girls crowded round her, some of them kneeling by her side, some of them venturing to kiss her hand; but from every pair of lips came the same words, "We know nothing of the packet." Even Fanny, who kept it in her pocket, and who heartily wished that it was lying at the bottom of the sea, repeated the same words as her companions.